Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
The faint scent of vanilla and spices lingers in the air when I wake up, the kind that makes you want to sink deeper into the bed and forget the world exists.
Koen’s bed.
I vaguely remember falling asleep in Sylus’s arms on the couch again last night, half listening to Sylus and Nicholas bickering before Koen and he argued about where I should sleep. Judging by my current surroundings, Koen won.
The sheets are soft against my skin, and for a moment, I let myself pretend I could stay here all day.
But the sunlight streaming through the blinds tells me it’s far from morning.
I groan, sitting up and rubbing my eyes, then grabbing my phone from the nightstand where it’s been placed and plugged in to charge. It’s already early afternoon.
There are three unread messages waiting for me.
Koen
There are breakfast burritos in the oven keeping warm for you. I’m out with Levi and Sylus to check on some things in the Lane Building. Text me when you’re awake, Little Thief.
Sylus
Hope you slept well, Sparkle baby. I love you.
Ace
I dare you to wear long sleeves and pants and come meet me outside the house.
Ace. He sent it only ten minutes ago, and my heart jumps at the thought of him waiting for me.
I send a quick good morning text to Koen and Sylus before I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the lazy part of me that wants to stay wrapped in Koen’s scent.
The air is cool against my skin, and I look down to find I’m only in my panties and a black shirt that looks like Koen’s.
Huh.
I make my way to Sylus’s room, where he stashed the stuff he brought over for me. Sure enough, there’s a bag with my things sitting by his bed.
The room is a fucking mess, clothes draped over the chair, a couple of gaming controllers scattered around, and empty energy drink cans on the floor.
But what makes me stop is the embroidery hoop propped on the bed.
The fabric stretched tight across it is adorned with stitched green letters surrounded by pink flowers. GET FUCKE.
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. Next to it are scattered skeins of pastel thread and a needle stuck through the edge of the cloth, like he abandoned the project mid-insult.
Still smiling, I grab my bag and dig through it, pulling out fresh panties, a bra, a pair of leggings, and a hoodie. The thought of him sitting here, probably swearing at the thread while trying to keep the stitching neat, sticks with me as I head to the en suite.
Setting the clothes on the counter, I catch a glimpse of the bandage on my arm.
With a sigh, I peel it off carefully, wincing at the raw edges of the graze.
The skin looks better, healing slowly but still tender.
I grab a tube of cream from the medicine cabinet and smooth a thin layer over the wound, then cover it with a fresh bandage.
Brushing my teeth, I run a comb through my hair, debating for a second whether to put on makeup. But it’s Ace. I don’t need to hide behind foundation and mascara with him.
And he’s waiting for me.
I pull the hoodie over my head, slip on my sneakers, and rush downstairs to the kitchen. Pulling two breakfast burritos out of the oven, I wrap them in napkins and head to the door.
The sunlight is brighter than I expect as I step outside, the air warm against my hoodie. I scan the driveway, frowning when I spot Ace sitting on the bottom step, two pairs of skates lying next to him.
Skates? What the hell?
I walk down toward him, my steps careful as if not to disturb whatever has him sitting there so still. When I reach him, I hesitate for a moment before sitting down next to him, just far enough away that our arms don’t brush, and reach out one of the burritos in my hand.
“You’re on,” I say, waiting for him to make the first move.
His ice-blue eyes flick to mine, and a smile tugs at his lips as he takes the burrito. “Thank you.”
At first, we eat in silence.
And God, is it good.
But while the sound of napkins crinkling and the occasional chirp of a bird fills the air, my thoughts are louder.
Am I sitting too close?
Should I shift farther away?
Would that seem weird? Or maybe it’s better to sit still and act as if I’m not overthinking everything about this moment?
Ace finishes before I do and wipes his hands on his napkin. I take my time, trying to match his ease as I chew my last bite and clean my hands too.
When I put down the napkin, he reaches out, hooking his pinky around mine, and a waft of his burned wood with dark patchouli scent waves over. The scent and gesture make me freeze for a beat, my eyes dropping to where our fingers are linked.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Good.” I look up at him. “Too long. I think I’ve had such a lack of sleep these last few years that now it feels like I’m trying to catch up.”
“Don’t spill bullshit,” he teases. “You’ve always been a long-nights, long-sleeper kind of person.”
I chuckle, looking away to hide all the emotions that bubbled up. His memory of me feels like both a warm embrace and a stab of something sharp. “Maybe.” He doesn’t push further, only nodding, then turns his gaze toward the driveway. “How about you? How’d you sleep?”
“Good,” he answers simply.
“What are we doing out here?”
Ace finally turns to look at me again. “I was talking with Levi and Koen while you were catching up on sleep,” he says, giving me a pointed side-eye that makes me laugh.
“And?”
“And,” he continues. “We decided to go with the plan outside the Lane Building. On the street.”
“You did?”
“It’ll mean some adjustments to the plan, but Levi’s idea makes sense. More people, more visibility, and a bigger impact. It’s… ambitious.”
Ambitious is an understatement. It’s reckless and bold and utterly Lane. “And you’re okay with that?”
“I am,” he says, hooking his pinky tighter with mine as if trying to ground me in his certainty. “What do you think? You okay with the change?”
“I guess I’ll have to be.” It’s not like I knew the first plan very well.
Hell, I still don’t know the current one, if I’m honest.
Ace’s smile is small but knowing. “Then let’s get to work.”
“So why exactly are we here?”
“The new plan needs you and me to get on skates and deliver a few hundred decks of cards to people in the crowd.” His voice is so casual that he may as well have said we’re grabbing bubble tea.
I glance at the skates sitting next to him, and my stomach drops.
Fuck. I’ll fall on my ass.
But then it clicks, and I snap my eyes to him. “You? Outside the house? In a crowd?”
Ace smirks faintly, but there’s a nervous edge to it like he’s waiting for me to call him out. “It’s necessary.”
I’m still wrapping my head around the idea when he shifts forward, pulling the skates closer to me. “Please don’t move.”
“What are you…”
Before I can finish the question, he kneels in front of me, his hands reaching for my sneakers. My heart stops for a beat, and I watch as his fingers work at the laces, loosening them before sliding my sneakers off.
The intimacy of it, the quiet, unspoken care in the way he handles my feet, makes my breath hitch. I want to stroke my hand through his hair, but I force myself to stay still.
He slides the skates onto my feet, his fingers brushing against my ankles as he fastens the straps. “That okay?”
I turn the question back on him. “Is it okay for you?”
Sure, I’m not touching him, but he did touch me a lot.
Ace nods, though there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “I talked a lot with my therapist the last few days.”
“Therapist?”
“Yeah. Online. Koen helped me find her. She’s the best money can buy, and she knows her stuff about…
my kind of problems.” He glances down at our joined hands, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“It’s not easy, though. Every session feels like ripping out stitches and hoping the wound heals better this time. ”
“I’m sorry it’s hard, but you doing that is amazing. I guess I should look for one myself.”
The therapist who gets stuck with me is going to have the field day of their career.
Hi, I’m Nova. I strip for a living, pick pockets for fun, and collect emotional baggage like it’s a Black Friday sale. Oh, and I’ve got a lineup of lovers who probably need therapy more than I do. Good luck untangling this mess.
Ace glances up at me, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “You should. For me, it’s already helping. I can give you her contact, or…” His smirk grows. “We could let Koen look for one for you. He’s very good at that kind of thing.”
I arch a brow. “What kind of thing?”
“Throwing money at people until they clear their schedule to make room for appointments with a new client.”
I chuckle again, the sound lighter this time. “Ah. Of course.”
Ace’s laugh is soft, almost a hum, as he finishes tightening the straps on the skates, his fingers brushing my ankle one last time before he leans back on his heels. His eyes scan my face as if to make sure I’m really okay, then he pulls his skates toward him and starts putting them on.
Once he’s done, he stands, towering over me for a moment, then hesitates. “I want to help you up,” he says quietly. “And try holding your hand. But I might need to let go after a few minutes.”
I nod quickly, eager for any contact he will give. “Okay.”
He extends a hand toward me, and when I place mine in his, his grip is firm but careful, as if he’s terrified of squeezing too hard.
He pulls me up, steadying me as I wobble for a moment on the skates.
His hand doesn’t leave mine, though, and the warmth of his touch spreads through me like wildfire.
“How is it?” I ask when he doesn’t let go of me.